


such is the life of an adventurer

by PitViperOfDoom



Category: Hilda (Cartoon), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: Nowhere Space means Dimensional Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 14:17:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18390098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PitViperOfDoom/pseuds/PitViperOfDoom
Summary: A magical blizzard descends over Trolberg, sending Hilda fleeing into the Nowhere Space to escape the deadly cold. When she comes out on the other side, the world is strange and the people in it are even stranger.There are reasons why the nisse don't enter the Nowhere Space beyond the safety of their houses. After all, you never know where you'll end up.





	such is the life of an adventurer

The cold snap hit Trolberg in the beginning of spring.

More than a few people already had shorts and light jackets ready, only to be surprised by the sudden snowfall, as if winter was giving one last finale before the weather warmed again.

Hilda had to drag herself out of bed one Saturday morning, too comfortable beneath her thick down comforter to crawl out into her chilly bedroom. But eventually, at Twig’s insistence, she threw back the covers and rushed to find her warmest clothes, hop-skipping on the cold bathroom tile before she finally got her thick winter socks on.

There were two extra feet of snow that hadn’t been there the night before, and Mum was at the window with a steaming cup of coffee in her hand.

“This is so unusual,” she remarked as Hilda dropped mini-marshmallows in a mug of hot chocolate. “I hope Miss Van Gale isn’t up to anything again.”

“She isn’t,” Hilda said. “The raven went to check yesterday. No one’s been up there since the weather spirits smashed up the station. He said there aren’t a lot of weather spirits around, either, so it's probably not them.”

“Well then,” Mum turned back. “I suppose odd weather is just odd weather, sometimes. Still, it's awfully late for such heavy snowfall. If this keeps up, it’ll still be snowing by Easter.”

“That’ll make it easier to find all the painted eggs,” Hilda pointed out, drawing a laugh from her mother.

That was the end of that conversation, but still the thought stuck in Hilda’s head. Was there a cause for the sudden cold that she hadn’t thought of? The weather spirits might not be behind it, but there were bound to be other creatures who could. Magic could do plenty of things; why shouldn’t weather control be one of them?

Hilda sat up a little straighter. “Wait a minute, it’s  _Saturday_. I could just go out and look!” Mum had already left the room, so she was talking to… Twig? Herself?”

“What was that?” Alfur asked, poking his head out of the dish cupboard.

“Oh, hi, Alfur,” Hilda said. “I was just thinking—it’s been warm lately, almost spring, and suddenly it’s snowing again. And I know the raven said it wasn’t the weather spirits or the weather station this time, but it could still be something, couldn’t it?”

“Well, I suppose so,” Alfur replied, looking equal parts nervous and contemplative. “I’m not sure I like to speculate on that sort of thing.”

“Who needs speculating?” Hilda pointed out, already throwing on her jacket. Sensing an adventure, Twig darted around at her heels. “Why speculate when the answers are out there? There’s no reason I can’t just go out and find out for myself.”

“Actually there is,” Alfur said, matter-of-factly.

Hilda froze. “What?”

Alfur climbed down from the dish cupboard and made his way across to where she stood, before pulling out an elf-sized planning journal. “You’re helping Frida clean out her attic today, remember?”

"I'm doing what now?"

“Don’t you remember?” Alfur said, tapping on one page of the planner. “You enlisted Frida in helping you smuggle a water spirit out of the pond in Trolberg park, and in return you promised to help her with her spring cleaning.”

“Spring cleaning? It’s snowing outside!”

“The weather didn’t enter into the agreement,” Alfur pointed out. “I should know, I helped you two establish a verbal contract. Frida specified a date and time, and you agreed to it. It was a bit loose, as contracts go, but I did my best and the date was never in question. It's today.”

Hilda groaned. “But that was a month ago! How was I supposed to know that something new and exciting would come up?”

“There’s always tomorrow for that,” Alfur pointed out helpfully. “I’m sure the snow will still be here. And if it isn’t, then that means there isn’t anything that needs investigating, right?”

“But this isn’t even the first time this has happened!” Hilda burst out. “Two weeks ago, someone said they saw trolls just outside the walls, and we couldn’t go and see because we were helping David with a requirement for his Entrepreneur badge. Trolls, Alfur!”

“Yes, but—”

“And before that, there were ghosts in the library but we were too busy with Frida’s study plan to go looking for them.”

“But Hilda,” Alfur said patiently. “In the end, David earned his badge, and you all passed the test that Frida wanted you to study for. Those were good things you did, and this will be, too!”

Hilda groaned, then wandered over to the couch to flop down.

“Everything all right?” Mum asked, stepping back out into the living room.

“I’ve just reminded Hilda of a prior commitment,” Alfur replied. “Unfortunately, it seems to be getting in the way of her… more spontaneous nature.”

Hilda groaned into the couch cushions.

“Are we talking about helping Frida and her parents clean their attic?” Mum asked, sitting down next to her. Hilda made a half-hearted attempt at replying, but since she couldn’t muster the desire to lift her face out of the cushion, there wasn’t much she could say.

“Come on now, Hilda,” Mum said gently, shaking her lightly by the shoulder. “It’s like Alfur said. You made a commitment. If you go back on it now, then how would it be fair of you to ask Frida for help in the future?”

She was right, of course. It wasn’t fair to Frida to back out now just because it was snowing. But  _still_.

Back in the mountains, back when she and Mum lived in their solitary house with only the trees and the forest creatures for company, there was nothing holding her back from rushing after every new adventure that came her way.

But then, they didn't live alone in the mountains anymore, did they?

Hilda levered herself off the couch. “When are we going?” she asked.

“I don’t see why we can’t head out now,” Mum answered. “Come on. The earlier we start, the earlier we’ll finish. There might be time to do something fun later. Go on, call Frida, tell her we’re on our way.”

“Alright, Mum.” Hilda got up and headed for the door, with Twig following close behind.

“Take care of the house, Tontu!” Mum called over her shoulder. “The hot chocolate’s in the usual place, if you want to make any.”

“Will do,” the nisse answered from beneath the couch cushions. “You two have fun.”

Hilda tried not to groan again on her way out.

* * *

Cleaning out attics, as it turned out, was dusty work. It wasn’t as boring as Hilda had feared, but it was a far cry from running through the snow searching for magical creatures. The light through the attic window was silvery gray from the thick clouds, a constant reminder of what Hilda  _wasn't_  currently doing.

Still, that didn’t mean there weren’t a few interesting things to find in Frida’s attic.

Sparrow Scouting was apparently in Frida's blood. Both of her parents kept their old uniforms and scouting gear boxed up in the attic, which let Hilda and Frida amuse themselves by giggling at the frumpy old uniform designs, counting the old badges and trying to guess at which ones they were. Alfur was getting into just about every nook, cranny, and tiny hiding space he could find, just to make absolutely sure nothing was missed. Even Twig was finding interesting things to smell in each box, though he steered clear of the mothballs.

Hilda wasn't surprised that Mum would find something cool to look at, but she didn't expect exactly what it was.

“Oh my goodness! Frida, these are amazing!” Mum was kneeling in one corner with a binder open before her, flipping slowly through the pages. Hilda left off going through boxes of old diningware to scoot over and look.

It was a photo album, almost as thick as the width of Hilda’s hand. The page that Mum was on was filled with nature photos: lush green fields and mountains, running streams, trees that looked perfect for climbing.

Hilda didn’t recognize any of them from places in Trolberg.

Mum turned another page, and a photo showed what looked like a slightly older version of Frida with shorter hair, posing in front of the mouth of a cave overgrown with moss and lichen.

“Oh, that’s my mum!” Frida said. “She used to go camping a lot when she was a teenager, even after she left the Sparrow Scouts. She took loads of pictures. That’s a cave she found while hiking in the mountains. She said she found three different kinds of bats.”

“You know, I think I know that cave,” Mum said, flipping through more of it. “And--oh, that’s Lake Nokken!”

Hilda leaned over her mother’s arm for a better look. “What’s Lake Nokken? Does that have to do with the nokks?”

“It does, according to legend,” Mum said excitedly. “I went there a few times as a girl, to see if the legends were true, and you know what?” She let her voice drop. “They are. I saw a nokk! He was resting on the lakeshore, singing. I sat and listened to him for a while, until he slipped back into the water and disappeared. I told my friends, but most of them didn’t believe me.”

Hilda’s mouth dropped open. “You went looking for magical creatures too, Mum?”

“Oh, all the time!” Mum laughed. “I got into trouble a few times on Sparrow Scout camping trips. I’d sneak out after lights-out to look for fairies and elves and things.”

Frida shot a sly smile at Hilda. “Gee, I wonder who  _that_ sounds like.”

“I’m sure you never found any elves,” Alfur remarked as he swept dust off a shelf with a feather duster. “You hadn’t signed the papers yet.”

“No, I didn’t. I saw a troll once, but from very far away, and I went straight back to my tent afterward.” Mum’s smile deepened. “But oh, it was magical. I’ll never forget it.”

“But you don’t do anything like that anymore,” HIlda blurted. “Do you, Mum? You don’t go looking for things anymore.”

The smile on Mum’s face faded a little, and she ruffled Hilda’s hair fondly. “I guess not. As I grew older, I took on more and more responsibilities, more commitments. I had graduation to think about, then university, and before I knew it, I had a family of my own. But I always treasure the memories.”

“And now Hilda has enough adventures for both of you,” Frida pointed out.

Mum laughed. “That she does. And she brings some of those adventures straight to my doorstep, whether I ask for them or not. So, it all balances out in the end.”

But Hilda didn’t say anything at all. She was too busy thinking.

Mum used to be an adventurer, like her. She used to go out looking for magic, and sneak away from adults to explore the woods at night. She used to have adventures in the mountains and look for nokks in lakes and explore strange new caves, and…

And now she didn’t.

Outside, the wind groaned against the roof. The attic was well insulated, but still Hilda could feel a chill.

“That doesn’t sound good,” Frida said. “The weather forecast didn’t mention anything about a storm.”

“Well, it’s just a bit of wind,” Hilda pointed out. “It doesn’t have to mean there’s going to be a storm.” Another chill swept past her, and she shuddered. “It’s definitely getting colder, though.”

Frida frowned, and Mum gently closed the photo album. “We’ll keep working for now. If it gets worse, then it may be best if HIlda and I go home around noon.”

“That’s okay,” Frida assured her. “And it’s okay if you need to stay here, too. My parents won’t mind.”

“That’s very kind of you, Frida,” Mum said. “Now, let’s see about those boxes of dishes.”

They kept at it for another few hours. The howling winds outside grew and persisted, louder and louder with each passing hour, until the roof was rattling around them and Frida’s mum finally climbed up the attic stairs to lookin on them.

“Johanna, I just wanted to let you know,” she said. “If the weather gets any worse, the roads might get snowed over.” She smiled ruefully. “We do love your company, but if you wanted to get home today, I’d say now’s the time.”

Hilda looked around, and was reluctantly satisfied to see how neat the attic looked, compared to the mess it had been when they first came up. “This place looks a lot better than it did,” she admitted.

“It really does,” Frida agreed.

“There’s a little more we didn’t get to,” Alfur said, popping up from inside a battered old teakettle. But I’d say we accomplished a lot today, all the same.”

“Yeah, I think that’s enough for today,” Frida said. “Thanks again, Hilda.”

“You’re welcome.” It wasn’t so bad. If she wanted to go out and investigate the now, then there was always tomorrow. Maybe Frida would even want to come, David too.

Judging by those winds, though, the rest of today wasn’t much good for anything but going home and staying warm. What if there was something causing all this cold? If she’d taken the time to look for it today, then maybe they wouldn’t be looking at a midday blizzard.

“Well, let’s get going then,” Mum said, brushing some dust and lint off her sweater. “Hilda, Twig, Alfur, we’d better head home.”

“Stay warm,” Frida called after them.

Alfur hopped off of the shelf he was perched on and clambered up to Hilda’s shoulder. “Perhaps Tontu will have some hot chocolate already made,” he said hopefully. For the first time that day, going home and staying there didn't seem so bad in Hilda's mind.

The drive home… wasn’t the worst. They’d been in worse car rides, definitely. Like the incident with the Tide Mice, or that time they drove through the Nowhere Space. But still, the snow was thick in the air and made it hard to see, and the roads were icy and already gathering snow.

“They ought to have salted the roads,” Mum remarked, driving along at a careful pace. “I suppose there’s only so much that salt can do.”

“Especially if there really is something magical about it.” Hilda wiped fog from her window with her mitten and peered out, straining to see through the driving snow.

“Ohh, I hope not,” Mum said quietly. “We’re almost home, though. Trolberg's had plenty of cold winters before. A cold spring shouldn't be too much to handle.”

Hilda barely heard her say it, still focused and squinting out the window. It was hard to see anything when air was all white and constantly shifting. She wiped at the glass again, scanning the frozen streets for anything worth noting.

Alfur patted the shell of her ear. “What was that?” he asked.

“What was what?”

The elf scampered up the length of her arm to the window, wiped out his own clear patch, and shaded his eyes. “That’s odd, I could have sworn…”

“What?” Hilda pressed.

“I thought I saw someone walking out in the snow,” he said. “I couldn’t make out much, and it was only for a split second, but…”

“Well, whoever it is, I hope they get inside soon.” Mum pulled over on the side of the road. “And we had better, as well.”

As soon as Hilda got her door open, the cold bit through her winter jacket, sharp and stinging. She shuddered, and heard Alfur yelp as he crawled under her hat. She picked up an equally shivery Twig, shut the car door, and shuffled through the snow to follow Mum to their front door.

It opened before Mum even got her keys out. Tontu stood in the doorway, beckoning. “Hurry up, get in,” he urged. “If this is a normal blizzard, I’m a lindworm!”

Hilda didn’t need to be told twice. Cold wind numbed her nose and cheeks as she hurried toward the door, eager to reach the warmth and safety of home.

In her arms, Twig stirred. Stirring turned to struggling, and the deerfox let out a frightful growl that she could hear even over the growing blizzard. Hilda was almost to the door when Twig wriggled out of her arms and landed in the icy sidewalk, snarling furiously.

“Twig, what—”

He took off into the driving snow, baying over the howling wind.

“Twig!” Hilda took off running after him, half-deaf to her mother’s call. It was almost impossible to follow him, with his white fur blending into the driving snow. But as long as she could hear him, she could follow him. “Twig, come back!”

She almost tripped over him. He had stopped in the next street, all four hooves planted in the freshly blanketed snow, staring intently down the deserted road. Hilda followed his gaze, and for lack of a better word, she froze.

There was a person standing amid the snow. A lady, tall and slender with her back to them. Just looking at her, Hilda felt the chill extra-sharp. The sky was dark with storm clouds, the air around them was nearly white, and the lights from the buildings around them were swallowed up and useless, but Hilda could still see the woman standing there, slowly turning around.

“H-H-Hilda!” Alfur’s voice barely reached her ears. “H-Hilda I think we should r-r-run!”

The lady turned around to face them, her face half-hidden in the growing blizzard. Hilda blinked, and a wave of ice came rushing at them.

She didn’t think. Her body moved on its own, arms reaching down to snatch Twig out of the snow. Hilda ran back the way she had come, back toward home, panic screeching through her veins as the groaning of ice built and grew behind her. She looked back, and found it steadily gaining on her. It was spreading faster than she could run, wider than she could dodge—she’d never make it home in time, and there was nowhere else to run—

“Hilda!” A small hand seized hold of hers. Tontu was there, gripping her hand. She couldn’t see his face behind the fur, but she could hear him shouting over the wind and the groaning ice that was almost upon them. “Hold on!”

The icy world disappeared.

* * *

The Nowhere Space of the outside was just as vast, empty, and terrifying as she remembered it. She drifted— _was it possible to fall in a place with no up or down or left or right?_ —only dimly aware of the furry shape twisting in panic in her arms, and the sharp tug on her hair from tiny hands hanging on for dear life.

And speaking of hands…

There was one holding hers, small and gripping tight, her one lifeline in the muted void. He couldn't have wanted to come here, much less bring her, but then, there hadn’t been much of a choice. All they could do now was drift, and hope against hope that when they came out, they would be someplace familiar.

And then her mitten slipped free, and the hand went with it.

She heard herself scream, her own voice swallowed up by the black. Suddenly she was tumbling as if in freefall, her lifeline gone. Panic overtook her senses, she struggled against the nothing all around, reaching desperately with her only free hand.

She couldn’t find him. Was he gone? Had he left her alone? No, he wouldn’t. He must be lost and afraid too. She had to get out. She had to get them all out!

A hole in space yawned before her, and she angled herself as best she could to tumble through.

Sound slammed back into her ears. She was screaming, Alfur was screaming, Twig was howling, and then she landed hard enough to knock the wind out of her. She ought to have stopped falling then, but she hit the ground at a slant and kept rolling until it finally leveled off. She came to a halt surrounded by dirt and leaf loam.

She coughed, breathing as slow and deep as she could until it came easier. For a few tense seconds she held still, afraid she had broken something, before remembering that there were others she had to think about. A high pitched whimper reached her ears, and she opened her eyes.

“Twig?” Slowly, gingerly, Hilda got her arms and hands underneath her and levered herself up into a sitting position. “Twig, are you all right?”

An icy cold, wet nose poked her in the ear, followed by an equally wet tongue. When her vision cleared, she turned her head to find her deerfox watching her, still whimpering. He was on his feet and didn’t seem to be favoring any of them, so—good. That was good.

“Alfur?” Carefully she reached up to her hat, and sighed in relief when the elf caught hold of her fingertip.

“I-I’m all right, Hilda,” Alfur assured her. “I should be asking if  _you’re_ all right. I think you took the worst of it.”

“Just a second.” Hilda checked herself over, wiggling her fingers, her arms, and then her toes and feet and legs. She turned her neck slowly, twisted carefully at the waist. Aside from the giant bruise that was probably going to form from landing, nothing seemed overly hurt. “Don’t think anything’s broken. I’m all right.”

Alfur sighed deeply with relief, and she felt him climb down from her head and hat to her shoulder. “Thank goodness. Well then—on to the next pressing question. Where are we?”

Hilda looked. And the more she looked, the more she realized how wrong it all was.

“A forest,” Hilda observed as she got to her feet. “Is it… is it our forest? Are we back in the mountains again?” That wouldn’t be so bad. She could probably make her way home from here, especially if she didn’t run afoul of any giants, or mysterious houses in the woods. Alfur could find an elf post office. Maybe, if she had absolutely no other options, she could find the Wood Man and ask him for help.

“I… I don’t think so,” Alfur said. “I don’t—no, no… None of this looks right. Hilda… where’s the snow?”

Hilda turned in circles, her heart sinking. The elf was right. The ice and snow were gone; only the frost that still clung to her jacket was proof that there had been any snow at all. The air was warm, the way that spring ought to feel. And besides that, there was something…  _off_  about this place. The trees were different. The air smelled odd. The firmness of the soil beneath her feet felt wrong. Even the overcast sky was the wrong shade of gray.

The mountains and forests where she had lived before Trolberg were wild, untamed, and sometimes dangerous, but they were  _hers_. This place was not hers.

For a final confirmation, Hilda glanced down to find Twig pressing close to her ankles, ears drooping in uncertainty.

“Right,” she said softly. “We’re not anywhere we should be.”

“Then… what do we do?” Alfur whispered.

Hilda placed her hands on her hips. She was sore, tired, still shaken, and worst of all lost, Tontu was missing and the world seemed not quite right—all very pressing problems, of course, but no one ever solved a problem by sitting down and crying about it. She pressed her mouth closed, thinking deeply as the ambient sounds of the forest swept over her. “I suppose we’ll just have to look for someone who lives here. There’s bound to be someone. Forests like these are never empty.”

“Well… all right,” Alfur said uncertainly. Then he fell silent, tipping his head to one side. “Do you hear that?”

“Hear…?” Hilda cocked her head. She couldn't hear anything but normal sounds that were right at home in a forest. Wind rustled in the trees. Birds sang. Water ran— “Water!” She stood up straighter. “There’s water nearby. Someone’s bound to live by the water.”

With Twig at her heels and Alfur hanging on to her scarf, Hilda took off running through the unfamiliar woods.

It turned out to be a stream, not a river, but that suited Hilda just fine. As strange as the forest was, there was something soft and pretty about it, like the forests you always saw in storybook pictures. Following the streambank was easy enough, and nothing leapt out of the underbrush to attack them. All in all, it seemed a good decision.

The only problem was that they still hadn’t met anyone, and it was starting to get late.

“Mum’s going to be so worried,” Hilda murmured when they stopped to rest. Twig was having a drink out of the stream while Hilda sat on a log to rest her feet.

“It’s possible,” Alfur said. “It’s also possible that everyone in Trolberg has other things to worry about, considering…”

Hilda winced. “Right.” A blizzard, more to the point a  _magical_  blizzard, plus a mysterious woman who was apparently causing the blizzard or at the very least making it worse.

“I’m sure they’ll be alright, though!” Alfur said hastily. “For now we should focus on ourselves, and finding out where we are, and learning the local laws and regulations so as not to break them by accident, that sort of thing.”

Hilda smiled. “Right,” she said, getting to her feet again. “That’s sensible of you, Alfur.”

“Why, thank you, I do my best.”

She walked on. There weren’t a lot of shadows with the sky so gray, but the few she could see were growing steadily longer. It seemed more like evening than noon, as it had been when she last checked.

How long had they drifted in Nowhere Space before arriving?

With a shudder, Hilda brushed the thought aside. it wasn't a particularly helpful thought, and as hours of aimless walking passed, she was getting heartily sick of unhelpful things. The sky overhead gradually darkened, which brought along two more strikes against them: for one thing, it was getting late, and for all she knew it could still get pretty cold at night. For another…

A single heavy, fat droplet landed on Hilda’s cheek, the only warning she got before the sky opened up. Alfur yelped and scurried under her hat for shelter, and Hilda ran for the nearest tree. Unfortunately, its foliage was too thin to provide proper shelter, forcing her to run to the next, and the next, until finally she found a spot under a towering oak with branches and leaves that stretched all the way to the stream, thick enough to keep most of the downpour off of her. By that point she was wet and shivering, and Alfur probably wasn’t doing much better underneath her soaked hat. At her feet, Twig looked half-drowned.

Alfur climbed back down to her shoulder, close enough to her ear that she could hear his teeth shattering. “W-w-well, th-this was c-cer-certainly unf-fo-fortunate!”

“I suppose so it could be a lot better.” Only a fraction of the rain made it through the foliage, which helped her feel a bit less beaten down. It was almost surreal, standing in the scant shelter and watching the downpour all around. It could also be a lot worse, she didn’t say. What she did say was, “Such is the life of an adventurer.”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” an unfamiliar voice said.

Alfur yelped and hid in her hat again. Twig let out a warning growl, but with his fur all wet and plastered to him, it was hard to raise his hackles properly.

It took a moment for Hilda to find the speaker, before Twig took a few steps toward them and pointed her in the right direction. Beyond the shelter of the tree, a wide crooked log stretched from one side of the stream to the other. Seated comfortably on the side nearest to Hilda, in the V-shaped fork where the trunk split into limbs and branches, was a person.

She felt a little silly for taking so long to find them. But then, they were huddled up and dressed in green in the middle of a soaked forest. If it hadn’t been for the tall pointed hat on their head, she wouldn’t have spotted them at all.

A round face turned to look back at her. It was a boy—or a young man? She couldn’t tell just by looking at him. He was as small as she was and looked very young, but at the same time he looked impossibly grown up, with a fishing pole in his hands and even a pipe in his mouth, though it wasn’t lit.

With one hand he let go of the pole and tipped his hat to her, sending rain water cascading from the wide brim. “Good evening.”

“Hello,” she said, encouraged. “D’you live around here?”

“I suppose so,” he said, turning back to his fishing line.

“Oh, alright.” She paused. “Where exactly is ‘here’?”

“Hm.” The person glanced at her curiously, chewing on the stem of his pipe. “Hard to say. I don’t usually bother knowing where I am, unless it’s to get to where I’m going.”

Hilda frowned. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“I mean that if this place has a name, I haven’t the faintest idea what it is,” the person replied. “What I do know is that it’s about half a day’s journey south of Moominvalley, and that’s all I need to know, myself.”

“I’ve never heard of… of Moominvalley,” Hilda said, sounding out the strange word.

“Do you know where you want to go?”

“Home,” Hilda answered. “Trolberg, if you’ve heard of it.”

“I’m afraid I haven’t.”

“Ah, that’s all right, I suppose,” Hilda said reluctantly. “Sorry, what’s your—is there something I can call you?”

He smiled again. “Snufkin,” he replied, and Hilda had to bite back a smile of her own. “It’s as good a name as any. And you?”

“Hilda. This is Twig.” Alfur's name was on the tip of her tongue before she realized that Snufkin wouldn't be able to see him.

“Pleasure.” Deftly Snufkin reeled in his line, got up from his seat, and stepped back to the bank, tipping more water from his hat. “Well, I'll be off. It looks as if the fish aren’t biting today.”

“That's a shame,” Hilda remarked. “You’d think they’d like the extra water.”

Snufkin laughed. “Oh, well. I doubt I could’ve gotten a fire going t in this downpour anyway. And besides, no one ever starved to death overnight.”

“Oh.” Hilda frowned. “I’ve got some snacks in my backpack. No fish, but I do have some carrot sticks and granola bars. Going to bed hungry is  _awful_.”

Snufkin blinked, surprised, then grinned again. “That’s very kind of you, Hilda. If you’re all right with following me, I can show you my shelter. It’s not much, but it’s drier there than it is under this tree.”

A few fat drops landed in Hilda’s eye. “That’s fine with me.”

He led her further inland—“It’s better not to set up near streams and rivers, you only need one flash flood before you never make that mistake again.”—to a thick cluster of trees. Beneath their shelter sat a single canvas tent.

“You live in a tent?” Hilda asked, before realizing how rude that sounded.

“It’s the best kind of home,” Snufkin said proudly. “It’s the kind you can pack up and take with you wherever you go. Best of all, it keeps the rain off.” With that, he undid the flap and ducked inside.

“Hilda,” Alfur whispered in her ear. “Are you sure this is wise? We’ve only just met him. He could be anyone! We haven’t seen a camping permit from him, nor signed any sort of tenancy agreement, or waiver, or—”

“It’ll be fine,” Hilda whispered back. “He’s been perfectly friendly. Besides, Twig will keep an eye out. Right, Twig?” Twig stood up straighter, trying to look dignified and alert with drenched fur and a drooping waterlogged tail.

True to Snufkin’s word, it was much drier in the tent, with a tarp on the ground to keep the rain from soaking them from underneath. It wasn’t much, but it suited just fine.

Once inside, Twig shook himself off, spraying the inside of the tent with a fine mist. “Twig!” Hilda yelped. “Not in here, we’re  _guests!_ ”

To her relief (and embarrassment) Snufkin only gave a good-natured laugh. “No harm done,” he assured her, and swept off his own hat to wring it out. “I’ll be packing everything up tomorrow morning anyway.”

Hilda took off her backpack and opened it, relieved to find the inside mostly dry. A shivery Alfur jumped in to retrieve a dry kerchief that Frida had insisted she always carry—”A Sparrow Scout is always prepared, Hilda!”—and handed her the bag of carrots and a couple of granola bars. Hilda opened the bag and set it down between them, and offered Snufkin one of the bars. He reached for it, and she noticed only then that his hands weren’t hands at all, but paws.

“Do you always travel like this?” she asked, after that little revelation had settled in her mind.

“In the fall and the winter, yes,” Snufkin replied. “But spring has come early this year, and I’ve nearly reached my destination.”

“Moominvalley?” Hilda guessed. Snufkin nodded. “Is that your home, then?”

“My home is wherever I set up my tent,” he said simply. “What about you? I have to admit, I’ve never met a Hilda before. Do they all come in blue?”

“What?” It took her a moment to understand. “Oh! No, that’s just my name, not what I am. I’m the only—well, not the  _only_ Hilda. There are other people called Hilda, I think, but that’s just a coincidence.”

“That's usually the case, isn't it,” said Snufkin. “I don’t think anyone chooses what they are when they’re born.”

“I… guess not,” Hilda replied. “Are there other Snufkins, then?”

“Perhaps. If there are, I’ve never met one myself, so they have nothing to do with me."

“Oh," Hilda said. "Well, anyway, I’m a human. Twig’s a deerfox.” She considered mentioning Alfur, and decided against it. That was a conversation for another time.

“Hm.” Snufkin looked thoughtful. “Don’t know if I’ve heard of those before.”

Hilda’s heart dropped.

“Did he just say,” Alfur whispered in her ear, “that he’s never heard of humans?”

“You’ve never heard of humans?” Hilda asked. “Even though you travel a lot?”

“I might have forgotten,” Snufkin said with a shrug. “Or I simply didn’t ask. I don’t always.”

“What kind of people do you usually hang out with?”

“Oh, anyone I can get on with,” Snufkin replied, smiling. “A few Moomins, some Hemulens, a Mymble or three.”

Hilda squinted at him.

“I try to steer clear of Fillyjonks,” he went on with a wink. “As a general rule.”

“I can’t tell if you’re pulling my leg or not,” Hilda said.

“If you’re of a mind to come along, you can meet some of them yourself,” Snufkin suggested. “You’re welcome to, if you want. I usually travel alone, but Moominvalley’s only half a day away.”

“Well…” HIlda hesitated. Straying too far from where she left the Nowhere Space might make it harder to find her if someone followed her. But then, she’d already walked quite a ways, and she could hardly stay out in the woods for who knows how long. “As long as it’s alright with you. Me following you, I mean.”

“I don’t mind,” he assured her. “I usually prefer solitude when I travel, but since I’ll only be traveling until noon tomorrow, there’s no harm done. You’ll like it. Moominmamma never minds surprise guests.”

“Oh.” Hilda wasn’t sure what else to say.

“We don’t know much about this place, or the people there,” Alfur warned her at a whisper.

He was right, of course. She was lost and surrounded by strangers, and that meant anything could happen, and anyone could be anyone.

But she was also very, very tired.

“I think I have nowhere else to go,” she said. Whether she meant to say it to Alfur or to Snufkin, she wasn’t sure.

“The valley’s as good a place to go as any. It’s the sort of place anyone could call home, if they wanted only one.” Snufkin turned and rummaged through his own pack, finally drawing out a harmonica. “Do you mind?”

“Oh no, not at all.”

Snufkin began to play. Hilda was pleasantly surprised; he was good at it. She didn’t even know that a harmonica  _could_ be played that well.

Twig was damp but warm in her lap. Hilda remembered how Twig felt more than she remembered falling asleep.


End file.
